<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Kernels of Truth by duskandstarlight</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512953">Kernels of Truth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskandstarlight/pseuds/duskandstarlight'>duskandstarlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, acofas - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 04:21:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskandstarlight/pseuds/duskandstarlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Those we care for aren’t always right for us, Cass,” Mor confessed softly, thinking of Azriel and how she had sometimes hoped that he would be her truth.</p><p>Something flickered behind Cassian’s dark eyes — something predatory — and when he spoke his voice was dangerously low, “And what would you know of that, Mor?”</p><p>A missing scene from ACOFAS, when Mor follows Cassian upstairs after he arrives back at the townhouse after chasing Nesta on Solstice (and when he throws the mystery box in the river!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azriel &amp; Cassian &amp; Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel/Morrigan (ACoTaR), Nesta Archeron/Cassian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Kernels of Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a missing scene from ACOFAS, when Feyre mentioned that Mor followed Cassian when he arrived back at the townhouse after chasing Nesta.</p><p>This is a prelude to my WIP Nesta &amp; Cassian fanfic Embers &amp; Light (my version of ACOSF), but you don't need to have read that to understand any of this. I was always desperate to know how Cassian acted after he came back from throwing that box into the river at Solstice, and what Mor would say to console him, so I decided to type it out.</p><p>It was hard writing Mor's POV and I would like to stress that it is her character POV rather than what I want her to say and think. For those of you who have read Embers &amp; Light, you know that the subject of Nesta is something that Mor improves on. I think a lot of what Mor says and does here is based on her desperation for nothing to change and her protection of Cassian (which is linked to the claim she had staked over him without them ever being anything or wanting to be anything).</p><p>I hope you like it! Comments and kudos appreciated, as always (and apologies for any typos! I finished this after a long day at work.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Kernels of Truth<br/>
</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all pretended not to hear the turn of the lock as Cassian re-entered the house, did not dare to look up as he entered the living room, bringing the sting of the winter air and pine needles to the raging warmth brought by the lit hearth. Mor watched him stalk with predatory quiet to the liquor cabinet and pour a generous amount of amber liquid into an empty glass. He knocked it clean back before refilling it, the whisky sloshing into the glass the only sound for a beating heart. Even the fire seemed to stop cracking and spitting, but then it licked its way out of the grate with a snap and Rhys’s low voice started up again, as if he knew that someone needed to break the silence… to pretend his brother wasn’t hurting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stoppering the decanter with a soft clink, Cassian grabbed the neck in his spare hand — tight enough that it would have surely been strangled if it were a breathing, living thing — before he slunk up the stairs, his proud wings trailing ever so slightly behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor threw Azriel a sharp look. The shadowsinger’s ever-perceptive gaze was transfixed on the dark hallway, as if he too were worried. Elain, who had been speaking with Azriel about her plans for the garden, stopped talking to throw him a sweet smile and Mor watched Azriel drag his eyes from the hallway to her. His lips turned upwards at the corners ever so slightly as he bent his head to the paper diagram in her hand and asked her a question about her plans for the eastern side of the garden. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was selfish of Mor to hope there was something between them, but at least she could be honest with herself about it. It would make the task she had set herself a lot easier when she finally gathered the courage. And she wanted Azriel to be happy, of course she did. She always had. She just didn’t want it to be with her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unable to wipe the concern off her face, Mor left the warmth of the living room and hurried up the stairs. The wood stung against her knuckles as she rapped on the wooden door of the room she knew Az and Cassian had been demoted to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Time stretched out until it was thin and taut as she waited for a reply, but no response came. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another knock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then, <em>finally</em>, “Go away.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words were tight and laced with a bitter, resigned sort of anger that Mor had not heard from Cassian before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She did not let it show.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You took the good bottle,” Mor complained breezily, trying in vain to keep the concern from her voice. “You could have at least topped me up before you left.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An angry grunt and stomping heavy steps. The door was thrown open and the sight of Cassian’s retreating muscular back, his umber wings now tucked in tight. “You don’t drink whisky.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Says who?” Mor challenged, entering the room and surveying the inside. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was tiny with two just as small beds. Guilt shifted uneasily in her stomach as she pictured the large room she had secured for herself, demoting the two Illyrian warriors to the pressing four walls. Whilst she had her own home in the city, it always made sense to stay with her family for the holidays. She had a penchant for drinking herself into a happy comatose state where winnowing felt like it demanded too much of her, especially when the night sky was kissed with the promise of dusk by the time she was ready to finally sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nesta’s room was still available of course, but nobody would stay there. Mor imagined the stale scent of the eldest Archeron sister would cause Cassian too much pain, and Azriel would not sleep in the room for fear of upsetting his brother. So it remained empty; a ghostly, haunting presence that was better forgotten but imprinted firmly in the back of all of their minds, like a cobweb just out of reach…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cassian was staring out at the only window the bedroom offered. His hair which had been tangle-free and shining at the start of the day, was now strung up into a messy, wind-kissed bun. It revealed the rigid set to his shoulders and the muscle in his jaw which ticked repeatedly in agitation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Perching on the wooden headboard of what Mor identified to be Azriel’s bed from the lack of weaponry, she asked lightly, “Want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The answer came before she’d had pause for breath. “No.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tucking a curled strand of blonde hair behind a pointed ear, Mor slowly got to her feet. She prised the empty glass from Cassian’s scar-flecked hand and poured him another drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cassian did not look at her as she placed the tumbler back into his grasp. He did not thank her, only took a long, deep drag. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least he hadn’t downed the contents this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You tried to speak with her again?” Mor tried, mustering every effort to keep caution out of her voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you hadn’t wanted to talk about it, you would not have let me in the room,” Mor said conversationally, trying not to snap at his rising to his temper. Out of all of them, Cassian was the most hot-headed. He was Illyrian through and through in that way. Mor would go so far as to argue that Nesta was the same.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the reflection of the window, Mor studied them both in the following silence. Cassian tall, dark and impossibly broad — a warrior in every sense — and her curvaceous figure, the long, blonde curls. And in Cassian’s expression… such sadness, as if he were too preoccupied with the evening’s events to check himself and plaster on that signature cock-sure grin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anger flooded through her. Whatever vicious words Nesta had speared at Cassian had clearly hit home. The eldest Archeron sister was known for her ability to maim with a few choice words, but when it was directed at Cassian, a male who already was full of insecurity despite his easy going personality, it left Mor fearsomely protective.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She doesn’t deserve you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally those hazel eyes slid to hers. There was no warmth in them, only pain and anger. Cassian’s eyes always turned dark when he was unhappy. “Is that the truth or do you just not like her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was not the response she had anticipated and Mor felt a fresh wave of anger heat her limbs until she was liquid with the embarrassment of being called out. Cassian was very rarely this direct with her. Their relationship was light and happy… full of laughs rather than tense exchanges. So for him to question that kernel of truth that she had hidden deep inside of her; the knowledge that she knew but did not want to admit, was unusual. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things were changing and it scared her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor allowed herself the time to recollect herself… to reign in the warmth from her cheeks, before she said sharply, “Forgive me if I’m a little over protective.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that she still wants nothing to do with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sighing, Mor poured herself a generous glass of whisky. Cassian was right, it was not her first drink of choice, but somehow she felt that she needed it to take the edge off. Nesta was a subject they did not broach for many reasons. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe she just needs time,” she said eventually, after she had swallowed a mouthful of burning amber.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have given her time,” Cassian growled. His free hand curled into a tight fist at his side, the half moons of his nails biting into the meat of his palms. “I’ve been gone for months.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Mor had been a better person, she might have suggested that could be half the problem, but she was too fearful it would make Cassian punish himself further. Males, she mused, were absolutely blind at times, especially Illyrian ones.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you going to leave her alone?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sighing, Cassian pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if the pressing weight would somehow make the evening’s events disappear. “I’ll be back in Illyria full-time soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor nodded. That would at least give him the distance he needed to heal, if that was what he decided he wanted. Yet if Mor were to dig into her well of power, she knew that Cassian was not done. That he might never be. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another kernel of truth. So many she harboured with her gift… so many actuality’s that were not her place to voice or her place to understand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tried to drown them out, but some were stronger than others. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And this one… well, never in all their years of friendship had Mor witnessed Cassian as taken with a female. That day when Nesta had raged against the mortal queens, Mor would admit to feeling awe, not only at the fierce rage with which Nesta had spoken but at how Cassian had reacted. As he had brushed away Nesta Archeron’s tears and vowed to protect her, Mor had known as truly as she knew her own heart, that the two of them would make history. That the their projected timelines had become entangled and that Cassian’s fierce display of tenderness meant his days of bedding multiple females was over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had been right on both counts, the latter made worse with the knowledge that Nesta was taking males left right and centre. Mor didn’t know whether Cassian was aware, she suspected he must know, yet despite that, he had not gone home with anyone after their late night drinking sessions at Rita’s. When the bar closed he departed without anyone hanging off of his arm. Instead, he launched himself into the sky with a grim sort of intent that had Mor wondering if his resolve had finally snapped and he had left to hunt Nesta down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To do what, she didn’t know. She also didn’t know Nesta’s reasoning for drawing a line under it all, but a voice at the back of her mind wondered if she herself had a part to play. When they had been opening presents earlier that evening, Mor’s gaze had snagged at the pointed way in which Nesta had stared at her books as Cassian held up the satin undershorts. Normally, Mor would have only felt satisfaction at making Nesta hurt the way she was hurting Cassian, but she had only felt cruel. Nesta was thorny with a tongue as sharp and lethal as steel, but for Mor to mirror that through her actions… it was malicious, even if she hadn’t meant for it to be. It staked a claim she had no right to — that <em>didn’t even exist</em>. The twisted triangle she, Cassian and Az had been in for centuries — the triangle that had worked for them, even if it was bowed and warped — was no longer effective and she needed to end it. She knew that now, more than ever.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her breath shuddered in her lungs as she took breath and opened her mouth— </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I said some awful things.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor abruptly closed her mouth, clamping her lips into a thin line. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As her mind had been working in overdrive, they had been standing in silence, staring out at the spectacular sparkling canvas which gave their court its name. His words made her head turn in surprise. Cassian was not one to willingly admit his own mistakes, especially not so soon after saying them. He was one to ponder and dissect, to quietly torture himself until he finally gave in, lacing his words with casual smiles and a lazy arch of a dark eyebrow which rarely failed to get him off the hook. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Scrambling to recover, Mor said, “Maybe you both need space. The war was traumatic for us all, especially for Nesta. She killed the King and watched her father die in front of her eyes. She watched your bones get snapped…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…<em>She was willing to die with you. To take the killing blow.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor did not say those final thoughts. Did not ask what everyone was silently questioning. Deep down, she knew the answer — what that kernel of truth was telling her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was there,” Cassian said drily, but he spoke too quickly, as if it were an attempt to stop Mor from speaking about what he had believed to be he and Nesta’s final moments. “And it does not help,” he growled, “that the whole of Prythian knows my damn business.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She didn’t know what to say to that, so she reached for his hand and squeezed. He looked down at where their hands joined but did not close his palm around hers. It hung limp and lifeless. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She clung on anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was true that word had got out about what had happened. It was the bare bones but it was enough. And for Cassian, who had never worn his heart on his sleeve as openly as he had with Nesta, the public dismissal injured an ego that was already battered and bruised from years of deeming himself unworthy. Nesta’s refusal had cracked open the insecurities of the youngling who had been thrown into a war camp to fend for himself, with no promise of being united with his mother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She won’t talk to me. She won’t talk to <em>anyone</em>. I know the first war is the hardest, and Cauldron I don’t know if it ever gets easier, but how will she heal if she won’t admit what has happened?” Cassian said, his wings flaring in the way that meant that he was unsettled. He pulled his hand away to drag it over his rough-hewn expression that was forged of fire and steel, of wind and resilience. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Those we care for aren’t always right for us, Cass,” Mor confessed softly, thinking of Azriel and how she had sometimes hoped that he would be her truth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something flickered behind Cassian’s dark eyes — something predatory — and when he spoke his voice was dangerously low, “And what would you know of that, Mor?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be an ass,” she snapped instantly, her insides suddenly raw and chaffed as her emotions ran rampant.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Holding her gaze, Cassian downed the contents of his glass. He strode to the bedside table to put it down. It struck the wood of the table with a firm clunk — not enough to betray how angry he was, but enough to tell her he was pissed off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where are you going?” she asked sharply, clocking too late the purposefulness to his stride… Cauldron above, he better not be going to hunt down Nesta. Mor did not put it past the eldest Archeron sister to decimate Cassian on the spot. Not for one second did Mor think Nesta’s power had disappeared. She felt it sometimes, rolling in the deep, like smog rubbing against a window pane, promising…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not to —” Mor started to warn, but Cassian cut her off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If she wants me to leave her alone I will leave her alone. I have something I need to retrieve and it would be nice if you left me in peace.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor turned back to the window because she couldn’t stomach to witness him leave. In her ears, she heard retreating footfall — heavy rather than his usual catlike steps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?” Azriel’s low, cold voice sounded behind her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That,” Mor said bluntly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A beating boom rattled the small window and then huge bat wings swept across the night sky, blotting out the stars.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mor knocked back her own whisky and left the room.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>